Something Lost
by amortentia
Summary: He has watched her rise from the Pit and she dragged him with her. How could he leave her? She certainly wasn't letting go. Bane/Talia
1. Before the Rise

**a/n: **This is my first Batman fic (be gentle), but I really love the whole Bane/Talia dynamic, especially when considering their history. I'm not sure entirely sure where this is going, but I know that I want to elaborate on their relationship. Since most of their story is veiled, a vast majority of this story is going to be headcanon, which means it's going to be really fluid. I don't know if there's going to be any smut later on, but do expect swearing/violence/triggers, etc. If you are triggered by mentions of rape/violence, it might be best to avoid this one.

Also, I don't own any of the characters, TDKR storyline, etc. Everything belongs to DC and the Nolanverse, except for this plot.

_x_

There was a kind of beauty in the Pit. Talia reveled in it, once she could understand it. She understood a lot of things, even though she was still small and scrawny and perched on tiptoes like an injured bird. She took comfort in knowing that there was a way out of here, to a pale sky, whipped with wispy clouds. It was a round stretch of hope that hundreds of sunken and vacant eyes desperately clung to. Talia knew that one day, she would leave. She couldn't now, not without her protector, not without Bane. She couldn't leave him. She had to be sure the time would be right.

She knew in her heart, though he was made of muscle and flesh and bone, he was much different from her. Set apart by the struggling in the dark and melancholy of being old and smart enough to know that you are condemned to suffer. When he thought no one was looking there was an abysmal feel to his eyes that Talia did not quite comprehend. They were like oceans, miles deep and dark that swallowed her up if she stared too long. It was a comfort to know that he was not all brazen and ferocity, that there was a tenderness only seen by herself that neither of them truly understood or cared to investigate. They just were, together, in an almost innocent fashion (as innocent as one could be in a prison like this), and they will always be. She would never let him go and he would never let her leave, and when the cold of the desert swept in with the sand and the cries of women and men, he held her to him and they understood everything clearly and quietly.

At first she told herself, a small, delicate girl of five, that they slept together just for the heat, like her and her mother did before she was ripped from her. The Pit really was a _cold_ place, hardened by the thousands of souls who passed through there, the air rippling with fear and blood and piss all the time. With each man or woman, the rippling grew to a kind of vibrating and then became consuming. During the day, when she walked alone through the prison, she felt nearly suffocated by it. It was amazing that so much filth and raw emotion could spill into the air. People clipped their words and fingered their knives and kept to themselves or to their gangs of langy, weak-willed men. They watched each other with lecherous eyes and sallow skin. The Pit welcomed these kind of scum; rapists and thieves and murders alike, with open arms as if it was a sentient being, rejoicing in the feeding of human suffering and anger. And the scum delivered, constantly, as if being furious and foolish always was the only way to be. It was tradition for fights to break out over everything, especially food, but Talia was always spared from this, because of Bane.  
"Come now, little one, you must eat before you starve," he would speak to her roughly, as if burdened by her, at least in the beginning. He always shoved the food at her, watching out of the corner of his eyes to make sure she didn't push it away.  
And so as the nights drew longer and the wind bit into them beneath the blanket, Talia would struggle closer, her tiny fawn like body somehow fitting perfectly against his chest, with a thick arm around her back. She nestled her head on his sturdy chest, clinging at him in the night. She knew that this was more than heat. It was pure human contact, the joy of not being alone in a place so desperate. She reveled in this too, and most nights she couldn't sleep without his arms around her. In her mind's eye each night she saw them escaping together, free of the iron bars and creeping eyes that trailed over them both, tugging at clothes, pricking hot like needles into their backs. And in those dreams, she also saw her life beyond with him, and they were always together. Even in her subconscious, the thought of leaving Bane was too much to bear. There are certain kinds of bonds that do not break when freed of their responsibility.

During the days of winter, Bane trained her with what he knew on combat and skill and stealth. To keep warm, they did reps of crunches, sit ups, pushups, pullups, and so on. Her body had grown nimble and swift, though she still handled a shank sloppily. Bane doubted her heart if presented with the hands of greedy men who watch Bane slice her growing hair close to the scalp. One day, they will see through her short hair and hardening eyes. And because of this, he would continue to watch over her, to train her.  
Bane had always known. Since the day she was born he knew that she was not of what she seemed. Her cries echoed throughout the Pit, and even the most vacant of men turned their heads for a moment, as if remembering some long forgotten wish. As she grew older, somehow surviving longer than anyone had expected with her weakened mother, she grew quiet and bright eyed. There was a glowing about her almost always, as if the dirt and grime of the Pit could only get her pores and swipe lost runes of the earth on her arms. She might be filthy but she always glowed, shining as thought her mother's love and the ignorance of the fragility of life had left a real imprint that was strong and deep seated within her. It was something Bane could never _not _notice about her. Talia gave him more hope than any breathe of wind or glimpse of blue sky.

As they trained together, sweaty and tired, they ate rice and bread or whatever rations had been sent down to them for that day. Drinking bitter tea and even some nights, laughing, they carved out a niche in the Pit that kept them alive. When no food was brought or the water stopped for days on end, they clung to themselves and their memories and sometimes each other. Talia had stopped weeping the night of her mother's death, and she refused to do so again, but hunger pangs and lack of sleep will get to any young child. Her insides were raw and hollow, bloodied lips bit to stop the cries. She started doing pushups on the dirty cement and Bane watched her with silent, curious eyes. She was getting stronger. Moisture dripped from her nose to the floor with a dull splash.

The push and pull of Bane and Talia's existence was becoming more normal for her. She had been with him for one year today. Her mother had been dead for one year today. She would be turning another year older in the following weeks, but her age had lost its meaning to her. Age means nothing in a place like this, where any man would have you just to remember the feel of their wives or whores. She remembers the bruises on her upper arms and the fear of having them inside of her. One year ago, Talia had almost been destroyed by those men, but Bane had rescued her. One day she would fully understand how thankful she was to him for this.

_..._

One grey morning, the dawn of her birth date arrived, but it was forgotten and swept away in the bitter biting wind. Watching her laugh against his hand has he swatted her away from trying to climb up his leg, Bane felt himself smile under his scarf. She was still… innocent.  
He would never forget the sounds of Talia's mother in labour, because he had so vehemently hated the idea of a women giving birth here. No one should be born here. The shadows of the Pit shaped him into a person that some days was indiscernible to him. Darkness had made him, and now it would make that child. He wondered if it would ever break a stranger's neck as swiftly as he could. If one day that child would destroy a hundred men and not regret any drop of blood of their hands, no remorse or deep longing to be cleansed. Those feelings of useless sentiment would fade into a dull throb, more like a forgotten injury that merely protests after a long period of time without exercising it. They would find vengeance and satisfaction in making the enemy quiver, in giving them their reckoning, in retribution. They would enjoy it, just like he did.

_x_

**a/n:** Thanks so much for reading! Reviews/Critcism/Advice is greatly appreciated. Do you think it jumps around to much? I was kind of playing with the idea of omniscience and focusing on Talia and Bane in the present, then their memories. I'm going to see TDKR again tonight so I might even write Ch2. God, I have so many Batman feels.


	2. Impulse

**a/n:** Hi there! Sorry about any grammar/spelling errors last time, I don't have a beta so I spell checked it about three times before I felt confident enough to post it. However, I'm only human I guess. Anyway, thanks for all the lovely words, they were such a comfort. I've been reading a lot of these kinds of fics lately and everyone is SO GOOD. Ahhhhh. I know I don't write Bane or Talia as well as others, so I'm just really honored that anyone has found interest in this.  
Also, after seeing TDKR for the third time, I realized I only watched it for Bane. Ughughugh, he is so good.

_x_

When Talia was eight, she was sitting in the cramped cell that she and Bane shared. Bane had departed not twenty minutes before, and she was counting the seconds for something to do. She was sick with restlessness, and decided that she could take a walk by herself. Bane allowed her to do this once, but had an edge in his voice when she returned. She did not want to anger him, but if she found him on her way then he might be appeased.

After searching for some time, she found a strong twig that appeared small enough to fit her needs. She used it to pick the lock, something Bane had taught her (and he had warned her not to use it here, but she had the greatest urge to move and found herself grow impatient), and slipped outside, and locked the cell again. She felt her knife brush against her fingers inside her robe pocket. She put the twig in her pant pocket and began to walk.

Even with the glares, the shouts of recently abused men, and the gropes, Talia enjoyed walking here. She hoped that one day she would be allowed to explore on her own, because she had heard of secret passage ways that prisoners sometimes used to hide from guards… or otherwise. The Pit was huge, though cramped, and continued down into the earth for some distance that abandoned her. There were screams coming from above, accompanied by sounds of punches and grunts, that echoed down to meet her. She gripped the bars along the side of the curved walk way and peered upwards, searching for her protector. Someone slipped their hand along her waist and she shrieked, grabbing her knife and stabbing the arm that was foreign and holding her roughly. It was a man, with matted hair and a bruised cheek, who withdrew quickly and spat curses in Arabic towards her. She shot some of her own right back.

"_Mind your tongue, small one, or I will cut it off for you._" He muttered more foul whispers as he turned away, gripping his arm. She hadn't injured him much, but it was enough to keep his hands off of anyone else for a while.  
Continuing her tour around the curved walls, she gripped her knife even tighter. She hated this place. She hated the men. She hated them all. A thought occurred to her… why had Bane left her? Food rations were lowered yesterday, and they always trained together. He had done this several times before, all in the same week. He would be doing anything; talking to Talia, sharpening stolen knives, and idle way to pass the time. Then, as if he was deep in thought, and would murmur a goodbye and leave suddenly. The thought of him with another prisoner, man or woman, filled her with jealousy. Her stomach burned in a way she had never felt before. This wasn't hunger, it was bodily rage. She shot cutting looks at anyone she passed, incurring more stinging remarks that left her feeling even angrier.

After ten more minutes of searching, she took out her anger on a filthy woman who tried to swipe whatever she had in her pockets. Screaming, Talia flung herself onto her, stabbing her rough skin wherever she found room. She was consumed by this crude swell of emotion; it was overwhelming and new and she hated the burning inside her throat. The woman's screams bounced off of the walls and many of the men prowling or loitering stopped their idle words to watch. Talia remained bent over the woman long after she had ceased to shout. She stared at Talia with a horrified expression, frozen onto her face as if with fear. In an attempt to get away she had tried to strangle Talia, but had only managed bruises. Talia got up, wiping her knife on the woman's tunic, and turned to leave. She walked into a solid hunk of body and she clenched her jaw, still filled with jealousy and an even stranger feeling of remorse swirling in her throat. It was Bane.

Picking her up, though she protested, they walked in half silence back to the cell. Looking over his large shoulder, she saw people stare at her, astounded or shocked. She heard cruel laughter from one of the guards who patrolled the Pit. The woman was being thrown to the depths.

Bane grabbed her under the arms and placed her on the bed. He gave her a biting look that said '_stay_', and left her again. She was furious. Stubbornly, she sat on the floor and thought about that woman. She was filth. She was disgusting, with harsh intentions and set lines in her forehead that made her look older than she was. Talia felt a sudden wave of fresh guilt, tinged with satisfaction and exhaustion.

She was eight and she had already killed someone. This was not incredibly abnormal, not here. The frustration of being locked up in such a small space, accompanied by the feeling of utter despair most days, would drive anyone psychotic.  
Something told her maybe she should be feeling a bit worse about the blood (literally) on her hands. She shoved it away. Guilt was a misleading feeling to have in the Pit. Still, she felt tears leaking from her eyes. She wiped them away with her sleeve as Bane appeared.

He had a dirty rag and a bucket of water. He was bleeding a bit on his face as if he was in a fight, and she knew that the water must be the cause of it. He ushered her over to him and began to remove the robe that wrapped around her body.  
"Clean yourself, child." He turned away to block curious eyes, and she did as she was told.

_..._

They hardly talked about what happened, except for him to ask her why she did it. Bane, internally, felt fear tug at his chest. He knew this would have happened eventually, but some days he still loathed her mother for bringing her down here, to the end of the Earth, the ruin of humanity.

"I was looking for _you_," she said, as if she was blaming him. He looked at her incredulously.  
"I told you not to leave here, Talia. You could have been killed."  
"You told me I had much more to fear than death."

He watched her, thoughtfully. Blood still stained her faded blue robe and she missed splatters of it on the back of her ears. She was much older than eight, it seemed.

"I was talking to the doctor," He ignores her widening eyes and continued, "There is talk of sickness spreading here. You must have heard it."  
She has. The coughing almost never stops now, but she had pushed it to the back of her mind. Bane pulls out a piece of beige cloth and hands it to her. "Wrap this around your face, as I have. It will be of some use for keep the plague away. It is spreading like wildfire."

They spend the night together, reading from a scroll of parchment Bane received many years ago. It is the story of some sad prince that Talia had forgotten almost immediately, for she knew no one could live as lavishly as him and she had no use for fairy tales. But she enjoyed the sound of Bane's voice, hushed up by the scarf. It dipped and rose and accentuated his foreign accent. He had never told her where his family came from, because they too were stolen from him.

Some nights when she wished to hear him speak to her, he told her stories about places called South Africa, Egypt, and Pakistan. He told her stories of cursed jungles and of ancient pyramids and of even an older evil that burned and poisoned the land as it trampled the people of Africa and Asia. He told her that they were in a land called Saudi Arabia, and that her mother had come from Israel. He made sure to tell her the story of her birth, of the mercenary, now leader of some mysterious League of Shadows, and her mother. Where he had learned these things she did not know, because he had been born into the Pit just like she had, but she enjoyed hearing about them all the same. Especially the stories about her father.

That night she wrapped herself around Bane in the dead of night, having visions of screaming corpses and shining axes and ropes that twisted around her ankles. Bane held her close, and when she screamed out in terror he kissed her head and hushed her back to sleep. The tenderness of his actions made him shudder internally. He feared for himself and the growing attachment he held for this girl child. But mostly, he feared for her in this place, with the sickness coming and the winter dawning on them once more. He feared that their one blanket and lack of water would be the death of them. If they were to survive through this, they needed fire, and in the Pit, so dark and filled with shadows, fire was about the most difficult thing to manage. It was hoarded greedily and whenever they were sent matches and timber, it was never enough for more than twenty people.

Supplies for the winter would be arriving soon. Bane knew that they were straddled on the gates of life and death very precariously. He turned his head and watched dawn rise slowly over the small expanse of sky above them. He wished now more than ever that they could escape. _Wishing never got anyone anywhere_, he thought.

_…_

Later that morning, Bane rose immediately and left Talia sleeping. Locking the cell behind him, he sought out the doctor. The man was growing blind and old, but he was knowledgeable enough. He was in his cell, attempting to find sleep, but was disturbed by his weak knee and sat up as he heard Bane approaching.  
"What is it you want, Bane?" He sounded as weary.  
"When are the supplies to arrive this week?"  
"I have been told nothing, they haven't supplied me with any medicine in weeks."

Bane knew this to be true, and found any other kind of interrogation unsuccessful. He wandered to the top floor of the Pit, where the men attempted to flee. No one was around except the guard who waited for those so desperate for death.  
Bane waited, silently, listening for helicopter blades or crunching of boots. He waited every morning that week in the dark, sure to warn Talia where he had gone, and remained vigilant. For this he was rewarded, when the men who lowered food rations and blankets and other occasional luxuries appeared at the entrance one morning, smirking and speaking in Arabic of the workings of the outside world. Someone was attempting to murder to German ambassador arriving this week, the rising prices of tobacco, the same idle speech that Bane cared nothing for. He did not care about anything beyond his prison. But the guard shouted back words of acknowledgment and thanks. They were dropping down crates of food. Men were starting to wander from their cells. The sun was rising overhead.

And there, Bane saw a familiar kind of box, a small dark wooden one that only came in the winter. He knew it carried wood and matches. He watched, clenching his muscles.

When the box was lowered, Bane moved to grab it from the guard, blocking a futile punch and kicked him in his shins. Effective, but drawing attention to the object of his desire, Bane worked quickly, removing enough wood for three nights and one set of matches from the small box. He dropped it, and the men who had begun to pull on his tunic scrambled for it, throwing curses over their shoulders. He grabbed some rations and head-butted three men on his way out, kicking more legs and elbowing greedy latecomers.

They would be warm for three nights. He had to plan these expertly, because how could one know if the next night was going to be colder than the last? The searching winds blew too hard, whipping around the edges of the Pit and sweeping through the bones of the prisoners. It was hard to resist the timber which remained hidden within their cell, when each night felt worse than the last. Talia and Bane remained together, and on the nights they did have a fire, they were happier than they could ever remember being.

_…_

Winter ended in Talia's ninth year, bringing a collective sigh of relief to the Pit. The plague still spread, and Talia gave Bane a fright when she came down with a cold one week.

They had trained more than ever that year, and Talia was now strong and able-bodied enough to start with knives. Training with weapons had always been important to Bane, because as a child Talia had very little chance in surviving with only her fists.

These sessions became a source of joy for Talia. There was ecstasy in the wielding of a knife. It seemed foolish to think that something sharp could make her feel stronger, and Bane had warned her against it.  
"You are only as strong as your fists. It is never good fortune to rely on weaponry, however useful it may be. You must remember your own strength. Use it. You can always rely on it, when a dagger is struck from your palm, or when you run out of ammunition."

He wished to teach her how to use a gun, but that was only wishful thinking. He couldn't even fathom how to make use of the things either. When they could manage the climb, he would offer the world to her. He would show her everything.

Talia showed real promise with small daggers that they had fashioned out of wood. Bane only grazed her in fear of doing real damage, but she had scared him once or twice. He only laughed as she gasped and rushed to help his bleeding wounds.  
When they trained, Bane saw her enter into a state of total concentration, which was only broken long after they stopped sparring. She moved deftly with the wood in her hand, moving between his blows like a small ballerina, but with the strength of a body builder. She had never been that delicate anyway. She had even caught him around the neck once or twice, with impressive shows of flourish and power. He admired her speed and grace with awe. She was going to be ten years old in a couple months.

Soon after that, they went together to obtain rations. There was some kind of sprawl breaking out, and shrieks of hundreds of men echoed into the air. It was not unusual, but Bane lifted Talia onto his shoulders.  
Quickly it became known what the source of the fighting was, and more battles began to bloom around them. It was a garden of fury, angry chants in Arabic and maniacal, empty laughter, which rattled in the Pit. The rations where cut down to feed only a hundred, at most.

Famine must be spreading, because their rations, as long as Bane or Talia could remember, had never been cut this short.  
There was blood on fists and broken teeth on the floor. Bane moved quickly, to circle back around to their cell. The guards were egging them all on, and some kind of evil was rising the tense air.

This kind of outbreak felt different. Men and women swarmed everywhere, throwing blind punches and yelling out in fury, attempting to find any kind of food. People threw themselves against the walls, coughing up blood and shuddering with the sickness. The plague was swelling up in the air accompanied by panic. It was going to be a blood bath.

It was now or never, Bane decided. Making his way to the wall where the sentry usually guarded, and pushed Talia up the side, urging her own. His eyes were fierce. She screamed for him, begging him not to go, and soon he was getting swallowed up in the crowd, head butting and beating on the men who attacked him. They pulled the cloth down his face. Talia choked back tears as he stared up at her.  
"Goodbye."

The men devoured him, and the tangle of limbs and daggers shook her with fear. She knew she had to go. Filled with fear, she mad the climb. Those who were not dying or fighting watched her. She reached the outcrop of broken stone, scrambling on to it. This was it. No rope, no Bane. Her heart ached in the most torturous way. _Now or never…  
_Filled with the proximity of her own demise, she leaped as if she knew she could fly. Her line of vision shrunk to this seemingly unreachable cliff. Her fingers reached the final outcrop, and the swung her lungs upward, arms clinging to it madly.  
Climbing up the walls of the Pit, she warned herself not to look down. They were chanting now, something unrecognizable to her from this high up, chocked back with coughing and crying.  
_Rise, rise…_

Talia felt her heart grow colder as she reached the summit. She surveyed the desert, seeing the lines of a city in the distance. She pulled her scarf around her head like a hood, and began to walk. A resolution began to set within her like stone. She must find her father.

_x_

**a/n:** I hope you enjoyed this! I hate to break up Bane and Talia, but it had to be done. No worries though, they're be reunited, of course. Also, I was wondering if anyone else caught that part in the movie (after Talia sleeps with Bruce) where Talia says, "My family was not always rich. On the nights that we had a fire we felt very rich indeed." I imagine that Ra's al Ghul would have been able to take care of her, while Bane and the lack of fire in the Pit would have been more relevant to her memory. Oh man ajsgdjfgkjd that movie ugh…  
Anyway, thanks for reading. 'Til next time…


End file.
